Isla let go, allowing him to take the knife away entirely.
Grayson pulled out a handkerchief and gently cleaned the blood from her hands, handling her with a careful precision, like something priceless.
He measured every ounce of pressure, terrified of adding to her pain but beneath that gentleness, his eyes carried something darker. Rage. The kind that came from watching someone you cared about get hurt.
"Mr. Vale..." Isla croaked, her mouth pressed into a wobbly line.
Watching him handle her filthy hands with this much care left her somehow both overwhelmed and unmoored.
Like a lost kid finally spotting a familiar face in a crowd. That sense of safety, that certainty that someone's actually here for me.
I'm not facing this alone anymore.
Isla's throat tightened, watching his lower
